Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave walked out onto the docks with Anneliese supporting him. She was around half a foot shorter than Argrave and the perfect height to support beneath his shoulder. Though he disliked touching others, of everyone, he was the most comfortable with Anneliese as she had the decency to clean herself of blood. Even still, she smelled of sea salt, sweat, dirt, and blood, so it was a very unpleasant experience. He supposed it would be strange to expect her to smell like flowers, though.

Argrave took in his surroundings. The wooden buildings along the coastline were wide and spacious, with great doorways and tall ceilings to accommodate the snow elves’ larger frame. The architecture was plain and effective, yet it still had decorations. Trophies hung above doorways of homes—skulls of animals, tusks, and other vainglorious displays that showed to demonstrate what the house’s family was capable of hunting. The windows were covered with fur blankets to block the snow and cold air. Fangs, claws, and tusks hung from the overhangs by twine, bumping against each other like grim windchimes.

With his focus back on the docks, Argrave noticed that nearly all of the sailors had stopped what they were doing. They stood a fair distance away from Argrave, watching him move. They spoke amongst themselves. Perplexed, Argrave looked in the distance. He saw a great group of people crowded together, watching the docks, and behind them, atop a great wooden building…

He frowned. “Is that a dragon?”

Though Argrave asked, he was certain it was. It was a great snow-white creature with a vast wingspan and four legs. It crouched at the back of the host awaiting him, its deep blue eyes staring ahead like two sparkling sapphires. Unlike Berendar, where some nobles and other important people had wyverns purchased from the desert tribes to the south, this was a bona fide dragon. Argrave had killed it many times before in game. Indeed, Veiden had a dragon.

“I sent word ahead by bird so that the Patriarch would not be surprised by your coming,” Anneliese explained. “I know druidic magic too, after all.”

“Did you tell them I’m Erlebnis himself?” Argrave asked incredulously. “This welcome is a bit much…”

Anneliese did not say anything further as she escorted him onto the docks. The mass amount of people waiting ahead was soon shadowed by the Veidimen on the longship following them behind. If the cold in the air didn't pierce bone deep, Argrave might’ve felt the situation heating up.

Despite the great mass of people, the awkward shamble of Anneliese and Argrave echoed loudly in the prolonged silence. Argrave started to recognize people as he came closer. Though he had never been to Veiden before, many of the Veidimen came to Berendar. If the player chose to confront them militarily rather than diplomatically, one would have to go up against some of the game’s hardest fights.

Argrave had done that many times before, of course, if only for fun. He most often fought them while playing as Nikoletta. The Veidimen had killed her father. It made sense role-play wise.

They stepped off the docks into the large ceiling where the great bulk of prominent snow elves had gathered. Argrave took his arm off Anneliese and stood, back straight. The Veidimen that had come with them walked around them, fading into the crowd. As Argrave scanned the crowd, seeing many faces he recognized, the people whispered among themselves. None addressed him, though. Argrave could vaguely see the Patriarch Dras sitting on a chair, flanked by many guards. Two men held the banner of Veiden behind him—a black wheel on a field of red.

Argrave took a few slow steps forward, his legs feeling weak and shaky. Despite his tremors, he didn’t feel nervous at all as he spread his arms wide. “It seems I’m expected.” He spoke towards the Patriarch.

Silence followed. From behind the crowd, Argrave could hear and see the breathing of the gigantic ice dragon, peering down at the scene like a great arbiter of his fate as icy air billowed from its nose.

An old elf pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside with his walking stick. He had long, sagging skin and a bald head marred with liver spots. He walked forward, disturbing the uniformity of the crowd, before he stood between Argrave and the Patriarch.

“Show respect for the Patriarch, human.”

casually leaning against his armrest, waiting for how Argrave

Long time no

How many times have I fought this guy? Fifty? Near a hundred, surely. I could probably recite every spell he knows.

curled in a snarl. “So, it knows

out people in the crowd. “I know the chief of Ryblud. I know the chief of Wryden. The chief of Balta, Lilan,

neck to better look at Argrave, watching like it was a play rather than an audience. “A little coaching from that girl born outside

of how I knew of Galamon, the exiled general and right-hand man of Dras. I could show you that I knew of your scouting party and Tirros the Tempestuous. I might speak of the hidden tomb guardians I

pass as truth, so long as the

walking stick of yours,” Argrave commented, kicking it with his foot. The old elf took a step back, bushy brows forming a deep frown. “You call that dragon a sacred guardian of the Veidimen

through the crowd, and Rowe’s expression turned to one of wroth. The snow

through hell and back to do my duty,” Argrave spoke, voice laced with conviction as he freed the indignance that had been brewing within him. “Your foolish invasion might well be

a step forward. “Get out of my way or

into the air and crashed against the earth. A great burst of snow flew into the air, and Argrave felt the ground rumble beneath him. The beast was mirroring its master’s anger. Rowe was the personification of pride, zeal, and righteousness. Argrave could not reason with him;

took all Argrave’s willpower to do this. He felt like a child scolding an adult that held a gun. Rowe could kill him without much

across the din.

wide eyes confronting the Patriarch. “What?!” the aged elf spat. “The boy shows

behind that one. I think he has

away, walking back into

a palisade. He wore snow-white armor, white fur on the shoulders and joints. His crown was absent, revealing his badly scarred bald head, but he had a matching helmet hanging from the back

“For someone who was practically carried here, you speak very big words.”

about

Here we are—the precipice of your task. Tell me then; why exactly is this invasion, the purpose

on the words for a time, ensuring he remembered them properly. Though Rowe had to be suppressed, Dras was a fiercely intelligent man, and underneath his layers of casual dismissiveness, he was someone who fiercely loved his people and his Goddess. Fortunately,

The words he’d prepared were how Dras was convinced in the game, but it felt extremely nerve-wracking to do it in

‘til it dies. The yellow eyes across his body glisten like oil beads, and the cries of the damned vanish into maleficent darkness in the winds of its steps,”

up in his throne. He leaned forward, staring at

repeated. “And have you? No. Evidently, no. You say this is the precipice of my task? Don’t flatter yourself.